Cenizo Journal Spring 2017 | Page 25

continued from page 4 sole survivors inhabit the pool and canals of Balmorhea. Is it a weakness for a species that an entire irreplaceable link in the ecosystem can be wiped out forever? Or is it a strength, testified to by their survival in this delicate strong- hold of water in a dry land? There are other species that cling to the modern age with cold rare fins: the Pecos gambusia and a pure genetic strain of what the State Park calls “a rare and declining” headwater catfish. There are tiny crustaceans, turtles, and aquatic snails depending on the man- made canals of the little 50-acre state park. The San Solomon springs are the largest in a long series of similar arte- sian springs in the area. Beginning some 400 miles to the north and west, this enormous aquifer system channels water through invisible limestone cracks in the earth’s crust. Some arte- sian spring water has been shown to be over seven thousand years old—this is the length of time it took each raindrop to fall to earth and be absorbed, then make its way through the secret twists and turns, caverns and crevasses under our feet, before being thrust, merrily bubbling, into open air. When I touch spring water, I like to imagine that the last mammal it had contact with was a mammoth, before disappearing under- ground. It makes me feel tangibly con- nected to an era whose distance behind me I can’t quite wrap my head around. People have used these springs for at least 11,000 years. Hunters, thirsty travelers, desert-weary nomads have all tasted that water. The Apache routine- ly watered there, and when white and Hispanic settlers came to the area, the boon of abundant water settled the area quickly with farmers and ranchers. The first canals were hand-dug, though later, in 1927, the springs were dug out and a larger canal system was created by the state. Before the springs were harnessed for their power to support communi- ties, they emptied into a cienega, a large and rare desert wetland. Between the dredging and the canal building and, later, the CCC’s construction of the pool and park, the cienega was destroyed. Riparian ecosystems are always the most delicate, perhaps because they are so intricate, so diverse, and so desperately needed for the sur- vival of all the ecosystems around them. The loss of the natural wetlands must have been a staggering blow to the bio- diversity of the region, much as I imag- ine the loss of Comanche Springs to the east must have been. But there were great gains in the region from the wealth of water that flowed from the springs. Reaching peak productions of 20 million gallons per day, the springs provided support for thousands of acres of cotton, alfalfa, melons, cattle, and many other crops vital to the economic health of the area. Around that time, the turn of the 20th century, there were four men who got together to start an irrigation company: E.D. Balcom, H.R. Morrow, and Joe and John Rhea. They lent the town and the future state park their collective name: Balmorhea. In 1934, five years after the begin- ning of the Great Depression, the State Parks Board acquired the springs and about 50 acres around them. A year later the CCC arrived and began con- struction on the 1.75-acre pool and all the buildings that grace the little park today. In the 1990s the park built a new cienega to replace the one that had been destroyed by more than a century of modern use. A second was construct- ed a few years later. These manmade wetlands are riotous with birdsong, whistling reeds and aquatic life. Paths and boardwalks allow visitors to observe the desert oasis. Little trails twist and turn through canebrakes, meandering around and turning back on themselves, making the tiny park seem much larger than it really is. A viewing deck overlooks the larger of the two cienegas, but the overriding sense of the wetlands is that they are there for the plants and animals, much more than for the visitors. There’s something so fascinating about the way thick grasses look under a few feet of perfectly clear water. The canals at Balmorhea are blue and green, reflecting the sky and magnify- ing the lushness of the wetland. The water is crystal clear, like thick glass, flowing inexorably away from the source through manmade channels toward Balmorhea Lake, where it is used to irrigate thousands of acres of farms and ranches. It emerges from the spring and fills the pool at a tempera- ture between 72 and 76 degrees, year- round. When I think of Balmorhea, I always think of Comanche Springs. Another artesian spring cluster, this one in Fort Stockton, Comanche Springs flowed at an estimated rate of 35 million gallons a day in 1899. A pool, bathhouse and pavilion were con- structed there too in the 1930s. But continued on page 26 Cenizo Second Quarter 2017 25